Harry Potter, Transdimensional Guidance Counselor
by opalish
Summary: Part of being Head Auror is tracking down potential future heroes and villains and giving them a good talking-to. Harry really wishes he'd known this ahead of time. Multi-crossover crackfic WIP.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Not mine.

There may or may not be more of this in the offing. If there is, it will be a full-on multi-crossover of DOOM. Be warned.

* * *

CHAPTER ONE: The Fine Print of Success

* * *

Harry hadn't gone into the Auror corps expecting a lifetime of glory and excitement. He'd figured, right from the start, that for the most part it'd be dreary, grueling, heartbreaking work. But he'd gotten through it, made his way to Head of the Department of Magical Law--where a job he really hadn't anticipated awaited him. A job more unpleasant than any he'd dreamed up, back after the final battle, when he'd submitted his application to the Ministry, half certain they'd laugh in his face despite his current heroic status. After all, he hadn't even finished Hogwarts. He was a magic school drop-out.

Which was precisely the reason he _really _shouldn't be given this sort of job.

"Kingsley," he snapped, barging into the Minister's office without bothering to knock (though he did stun the secretary so she couldn't sound her Potter-is-on-the-warpath alarm, and then he wasted a few seconds with his ear pressed to Shacklebolt's door, because a good Auror eavesdrops at every possible opportunity).

"Harry," Kingsley sighed, looking resigned. "I take it poor Ulyssia is once again frozen in her seat?"

"She knew the risks of the job," Harry replied, though he did feel a tiny pang of guilt. Ulyssia Baddock's son was a rookie in his department, and one of the better recruits, at that. It just seemed wrong, stunning his protegee's mum whenever he needed to have a quick and angry word with her boss. "And she still bakes me cookies every couple of weeks, so I think she thinks this is pretty funny."

Shacklebolt grunted, casting a dark look towards the door. "She would," he allowed unhappily. "That woman--"

"Runs the Ministry, and you know it," Harry finished, pitching his voice a little louder, because Ulyssia enjoyed flattery. A lot. And her flattery-induced baking sessions were the stuff of legend. "But Ulyssia's many, many fine qualities are not the point, for once. The point is, what the hell was this morning's memo about?"

Kingsley cleared his throat, not quite meeting Harry's eyes. "You'll have to be more specific, Harry, quite a number of memos go around all the time. And don't think I don't know about your little target-practice games with Weasley and Bones."

"Training exercise," Harry said automatically, feeling no shame whatsoever. Memos were made to be creatively destroyed. "And as for which one, well, I think you know. Minister, since when it is the 'duty of the Head Auror' to visit a bunch of teenagers, ones _in other dimensions_, and tell them to be good and stay in school and Just Say No to dark magic? Kingsley, you know I'm the very last person on earth qualified to tell kids how to be--what did your little note say? Right--'productive junior members of society'."

"You were a real punk," Kingsley agreed.

Harry wasn't exactly thrilled by this astute assessment of his previous character, but he was more than willing to take advantage of anything that might get him out of this thing. "You see?" he said, triumphant. "I'd be a terrible role model!"

Minister Shacklebolt did not look impressed by this line of reasoning. He leaned back in his ridiculously comfortable-looking chair, arms folded over his chest, eyebrows raised as he looked Harry over. Harry managed not to twitch in response.

"I think you misunderstand the nature of your duty," Kingsley said, emphasizing the last two words with relish. "Harry, the Department of Mysteries has an Unspeakable dedicated to keeping track of certain youths throughout the multiverse, children and teenagers they believe could become...perhaps too influential in their own worlds, enough so that their actions might begin to influence us. It has always been the Head Auror's job to have a sit down with these special children, assess their character and intentions, and perhaps impart a few words of wisdom and warning."

Harry stared. "...You're telling me I'm in charge of some kind of Multidimensional Villains and Heroes of the Future club?"

"Think of it as more of a loosely organized association," Kingsley advised, lips twitching. "One without badges."

"Yeah, for now," Harry said gloomily, because the moment Hermione heard about this--oh, there'd be bad acronyms and shiny badges aplenty. "Can I delegate? Wait. How come _I_ never--"

"No, you cannot delegate. And do you really think we'd send the Head Auror to come talk with you when Albus Dumbledore himself was your mentor?" Kingsley asked dryly.

"Oh. Right, that makes sense. I guess. Well then. How do I know which kids I need to meet with? For that matter, how do I talk to them in the first place, if most of them aren't even from this dimension?"

"I believe you already know the Unspeakable in charge of this project, actually," Kingsley said, eyes gleaming spitefully. "Apparently, Mister Zabini is quite good at weeding out those who are merely ambitious from the children truly capable of one day having a real impact in the community. He told me he'll have your first few assignments on your desk by the end of the day. Harry, I know you're busy, and rather young for this sort of task. But it was either you or the American Head Auror, and, well..."

Harry shuddered. He'd visited the American Ministry once, and was still scarred. They made Luna look like she was completely in touch with reality.

"I hate you," Harry informed Kingsley wearily. "One day, I'm going to overthrow you and instate Ulyssia in your place, and then you'll be sorry."

"You know," Kingsley said ponderously, "I think it's your impressive emotional maturity that makes you so very _right_ for this task. And don't be ridiculous, Potter, Ulyssia could take over with both hands tied behind her back if she ever wanted to be Minister. She'd hardly need _you_ helping out."

"I'm telling your boyfriend you were mean to me," Harry said, scowling.

Kingsley winced, alarm flashing across his normally stoic face. "Now, Harry, don't you think that's a little...drastic?" Kingsley's boyfriend was both imaginatively sadistic and *extremely* fond of Harry.

"No. No, I don't," Harry said shortly, before turning on his heel and marching out of his boss' office, flicking his wand towards Ulyssia the moment he saw her. "Finate incantatem," he muttered, bracing himself for a lecture.

Ulyssia shook herself, nose wrinkling. "I hate it when you do that, Harry," she complained, a hand going to her hair to make sure it was all still in place--as if anything but an all-out nuclear war could make her look less than perfectly put together. "And don't think I don't know what you're trying to pull, with all that 'Ulyssia runs the Ministry' stuff."

Harry smiled at her, batting his lashes once or twice--Ginny made him practice that move in the mirror at least once a week, and it'd paid off. Whenever one of them got caught doing something terribly stupid or immature, all he had to do to get them out of trouble was pout a little, bat his eyes, and radiate hurt innocence. It worked like a charm.

Ulyssia was immune, of course, but she thought it was funny, and an amused Ulyssia was a happy Ulyssia. And a happy Ulyssia made deluxe banana bread and mounds of triple chocolate cookies, and always brought some in for her favorite coworkers.

"Ulyssia, you know I wasn't joking," he said, which was true enough. "The place would go up in flames without you around, telling us all what to do. And it doesn't hurt, the way you hand out cookies whenever anyone shows the slightest hint of competence." That particular quirk was no doubt a result of Ulyssia's years spent working under Fudge, and was probably the only good thing that ever came out of his administration.

"Oh, get out of here, brat," Ulyssia sighed, rolling her eyes. "Oh, and tell Malcolm I expect to meet this new girlfriend of his soon--I've heard Things about her." She frowned, and Harry backed away automatically, because she was scarier than Bellatrix Lestrange when she was angry.

"Will do," Harry agreed with a short, jerky bow. "Now. Make me some cookies, woman." He barely managed to dodge the rather powerful cutting hex she threw at him, but he wasn't a Seeker for nothing. According to Teddy, he was 'fast like ninja'.

He also wasn't an idiot, so he darted out the door and ran far away, certain that one way or another, she'd get her revenge before the end of the day.

And now--now it was time to enjoy his last few hours of being an actual Auror, before he had to start with this guidance counselor nonsense.

Hermione was going to be thrilled. Knowing her, she'd even be jealous.

As for Ginny and Ron...well, they were going to laugh _forever_.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. Trufax.

So this totally was not going to be the first crossover. And...then it was. I'll talk a bit about upcoming crossovers at the end. Also, I'm delighted everyone seems to like Ulyssia thus far. OCs are always chancy, so it's good to know I'm not screwing things up on that front.

* * *

Harry stared at his first…well, he supposed student wouldn't be an entirely inaccurate description, for all that he'd only actually talk to her this once. _Assignment _sounded a little less potentially disastrous, though, so he decided to go with that.

She was his assignment, his duty, his responsibility.

She was also no more than a year old.

The tiny girl stared back, gnawing idly on a block of wood. She was a cute baby, he had to admit, kind of chubby, with tufts of blond hair and huge, bright eyes. Honestly, he was a little creeped out by her steady gaze--there was entirely too much going on in her tiny brain, and he couldn't help but feel a little, well, _judged_.

Clearly, Blaise Zabini hated him and enjoyed seeing him suffer.

"I thought Kingsley said teenagers," he muttered to himself, feeling decidedly grumpy about this unfortunate turn of events. "In fact, I'm sure he said teenagers. Teenagers and kids. No one said anything about talking to anyone who can't even understand a word I say. I get enough of that with my Aurors."

The baby cooed 'Wabahaga' at him comfortingly, reaching over to pat his knee with a sticky, slightly drool-y hand. Harry was rather an expert at translating baby talk these days, what with Teddy and Victoire and the rest crawling around and chewing on his furniture, so he thought he knew roughly what she was trying to tell him. In this particular case, Wabahaga no doubt meant something like, 'I understand your frustration, but we might as well make the best of it and hope everything works out and that you don't scar me mentally for the rest of my life. Good luck with that, by the way'.

"You're right, of course," he groaned, giving in with a heavy, melodramatic sigh. "Well then, Sunny. Uh, apparently you're going to be a hero at some point. Or possibly a villain. Maybe both, Merlin knows Narcissa Malfoy pulled that one off well enough. Sorry I can't really be too helpful here, but Zabini only gave me your name and address on a post-it. Which was an interdimensional portkey. He didn't mention that ahead of time, you know. Bit of a rude surprise."

Sunny Baudelaire blinked at him, not looking terribly impressed by his impromptu speech. Sharp teeth sank into hard wood, and Harry correctly assumed this was her way of telling him to get on with it.

At least he'd been smart enough to go in undercover as a babysitter, so he was actually getting paid for this ridiculous mission twice over--the Baudelaires weren't exactly stingy when it came to paying for childcare. Which was something he was _not_ mentioning to anyone in the Ministry, because they were cheap bastards and would probably try to withhold a portion of his pay.

"But that's not the point. The point is, I'm here because…well. If you become a villain, I might have to, er, intervene. And I don't really want to, because you're maybe a year old at most, and I'm just not that kind of man, you know? I'm more a soldier against the forces of darkness. Not so much with babies. So try not to take over the world, okay?"

Sunny gurgled, which, he suspected, meant something along the lines of, 'You're a bit of an idiot, aren't you'?

It was a pity Snape had gone and gotten himself dead from snake. He'd have loved this kid, or at least found her moderately tolerable, which was practically Snape-speak for undying affection anyway.

Harry cleared his throat, feeling even stupider than that time Draco Malfoy had stomped on his face and left him bleeding on the ground. He manfully resisted the urge to start whacking his head against the nearest flat surface. He wasn't getting hazard pay for this, after all, which was the only reason he'd risk concussing himself and killing off any more brain cells. If he and Ron got any less intelligent, Hermione would probably kill herself.

"Now. If you go the hero route," he continued determinedly, "or the antihero route, or even if you do the morally ambiguous protagonist thing, which is apparently pretty popular these days—well, be prepared for danger, angst, and really annoying people telling you what to do all the time. People like _Zabini._"

Sunny bit into the block of wood rather sharply, and then smiled. Harry translated this to mean 'Just let them try' and shuddered a little.

"Are we done here, you think?" Harry asked the girl, somewhat desperately. He should not be intimidated by someone younger than his godson. It was ridiculous. "I mean, I really don't know what else to tell you. Maybe I should visit again in a few years, when, y'know, you can actually talk."

Sunny bestowed upon him a tolerantly amused sort of look, which made her look oddly like Dumbledore for a second, only with curiously large, pointy teeth. "Shnafabibi," she agreed cheerfully.

Harry really, really hated Zabini. A lot.

* * *

Not many people in the magical world could visit the Department of Mysteries whenever they liked. The Minister had supposedly unrestricted access, but Harry knew for a fact that the Unspeakables had quite a few safeguards set up to keep incompetent, fumbling officials from causing any damage or seeing anything particularly intriguing. Not that anyone could ever accuse Kingsley Shacklebolt of incompetence, and certainly not of fumbling, but no one was about to risk another Fudge-turning-three-Unspeakables-into-fish sort of incident.

Ulyssia had open access, of course, but that was only because the Head Unspeakable was corrupt and had a real weakness for her double-choco-fudge brownies.

That woman was a baking _warrior_.

Harry, on the other hand, really wasn't supposed to go traipsing through the halls of the DoM. Traditionally, Aurors as a whole were very much not allowed in, and that went double for their Head.

The thing was, Unspeakables tended to view Harry's department as a group of powerful thugs, generally causing more damage than they ever prevented and largely incapable of stringing two sensible thoughts together. And really, Harry couldn't exactly disagree. Ron, when drunk, was just about the most destructive person he had ever known, and he'd _seen_ Susan Bones when she got angry. He didn't like her when she was angry. Plus, the force of Malcolm's occasional angst-sessions had dented many a wall, not to mention the occasional skull.

Slytherins—they were such drama queens, every single one of them. Though Harry wasn't sure he liked what that implied about him, all things considered. The Sorting Hat had been pretty insistent, when he was a kid.

So, overall, everyone agreed that Aurors and a floor full of fragile, mysterious spells and artifacts were generally a bad mix.

But Harry had been barging in where angels feared to tiptoe since he was in diapers, and he wasn't about to stop now.

He figured he ought to give the rest of the Department fair warning, though, so he flung open the front door and bellowed, "**Zabini! Come out here and get castrated like a man!**" There, he thought in satisfaction, as a few startled Unspeakables dropped important and breakable things with loud crashes and numerous curses. That ought to do it. And he'd even avoided what Luna called the 'Capslock of Rage', whatever that meant. All he knew was that Hermione sniggered every time she said it.

"Damn it, Potter," one of the cloaked and hooded wizards snapped, scowling down at the mess he'd made of what looked to be a giant and now-broken timeturner. "You know, we're doing a study on you next month, to see if you really are complete _chaos_ personified."

"It's very silly," a familiar, dreamy voice cut in. Harry turned to see Luna approaching slowly, her hood doing nothing at all to hide her identity. S'what happens, Harry noted, when you stitch radishes onto the hems of your robes, and have 'Born To Snorkack' written out in sequins on your back. "Clearly you're not chaos personified. You don't live in Sunnydale."

"Uh, yeah," Harry agreed, eying her askance. "Hey, uh, have you seen Zabini around?"

"Oh, yes," Luna said cheerfully.

There was a long moment of silence, while the three other Unspeakables in the front room watched avidly. Eventually, Harry caught on, sighed, and asked, "Could you tell me where he is?"

"I suppose I could," Luna said after some thought, and another silence ensued. Harry very carefully did not smash his head into the nearest wall.

"Where would that be," he said flatly, and Luna practically bounced on her heels in joy, now that he was being sensible and letting her know what he wanted.

It frightened him a little, that he could read her so well. Made him question his sanity, a little. As if seeing his dead Headmaster in the train station of his mind hadn't been enough to do that already.

"He ran away a couple of hours ago," Luna told him. "He was mumbling something about suns and orphans and babies and you being very, very angry, which I don't understand at all, because I know you quite like both babies and the sun. Otherwise you wouldn't smile so much whenever Teddy turns his hair orange."

"Red," Harry corrected automatically, because Ginny had trained him well. He could still feel his bruises from the one time he'd called her hair orange, and that had been back in fifth year. "Weasley red." He glanced around nervously, just in case his wife jumped out from behind the nearest corner and beat them both bloody.

"Hmm," Luna hummed dubiously. "It looks fiery orange to me, I must say. Anyway, I think Blaise must have been attacked by invisible fairies. It's the only explanation for how twitchy he was all day. And he kept giggling to himself and then saying 'Oh Merlin, I'm doomed'."

"I think it was more him knowing I'll kill him the second I see him again," Harry gently disagreed. Sending him to talk to a baby! He was Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, for Merlin's sake, he had better things to do with his time than threaten little children with dire consequences should they choose a path of darkness.

"Or that," Luna said. "Well. Do make it relatively painless—he is my colleague, after all. Plus, we're dating."

Harry stared.

"It's nothing serious, of course, everyone knows I'll eventually marry a dashing explorer-slash-naturalist who will aide me in my quest to become the preeminent Magicryptozoologist of current times," Luna confided. "But he's quite sweet. He hardly ever calls me loony at all, and when he does I call him worse things, so that's all right."

"Uh," Harry said.

Luna watched him expectantly. All right, so the hood prevented him from actually seeing her expression, but Luna had the sort of forceful expectations that could be felt across the room.

"Er," he added, upon consideration, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"I agree completely," Luna said, sounding pleased. "Now, off with you. I'm sure you have important things to do and adorable puppies to save. I like puppies. Particularly the adorable ones."

"I do too," Harry said slowly. "So, when you see Zabini again—can you tell him no more babies? In fact, youngest age has to be…six. Six'll be okay, I think."

"Oh, Harry! It's so good to hear that your pedophilia has limits," Luna said encouragingly. Harry gaped, made to argue, and then gave in with a graceless groan and slumped shoulders. When Luna was decided to be deliberately, evilly obtuse, well, it just wasn't worth it.

He left amid the Unspeakables' very obvious snickers, face red.

He was totally telling Ulyssia _all about_ this. See if she made any of them pie ever again.

* * *

I asked in Scorpius Malfoy for crossover ideas, and have already gotten a slew of replies. I'm afraid some fandoms, I just don't know at all--Death Note, Bleach, etc--although I intend to begin reading Bleach soon. I'm going through a manga phase, go figure.

But I do have plans! And I figure at the end of every chapter, I'll name a few fandoms, and then write the one that gets the most votes in reviews. Uh, this may be a cheap attempt to get more reviews. BUT MAYBE NOT. Don't judge.

So. The ones that, at this moment, I am most excited about are: Dr. Horrible, Good Omens, Star Wars, and The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy. Vote away. Feel free to offer new suggestions, as well--in fact, I beg you to send me ideas. BEG.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Good Omens won out over Dr. Horrible, but only barely. Not happy with this chapter, but I can't think of what else to do with it. Le sigh.

* * *

"Oh, _Harry_," Hermione sighed, shaking her head in exasperation. "You can't kill Luna's boyfriend."

"He's too pretty to die," Ginny agreed, before taking an enormous bite of curry. Curry which Harry, being a doting and considerate friend and husband, had made for his traitorous, backstabbing wife and his turncoat in-laws.

He supposed he could let himself take comfort in the fact that none of them doubted his ability to kill the bastard, though.

"Go for it, mate," Ron said around a mouthful of eggplant, and Harry grinned. Forget fourth year and that time Ron abandoned him and Hermione on the most important adventure of their lives--his best friend always stood by him when it really counted. Unlike Hermione and Ginny, who frowned at Ron disapprovingly.

"Who's Daddy killing?" James demanded, while Al gurgled merrily in an ancient-looking highchair (one of those special highchairs his mother-in-law charmed to keep food-flinging to a minimum and miniature escape artists safely confined--Harry had been quite impressed to learn that not even Fred and George had ever managed to escape from a Weasley-proofed highchairs, when they were small). Harry winced, because the whole murder thing probably wasn't an appropriate subject for his three year-old son.

"Er. Apparently, no one."

"Oh," James said, nodding in understanding. "Why not?"

"Killing is wrong," Harry said quickly, because he just _knew_ if he left it up to Ginny, she'd launch into a lecture about how pretty people needed to live so she could ogle them, and then James would want to know about ogling, and somehow that would transform into The Talk. Harry was really, really not looking forward to sitting James down for a chat about wands and holsters and magic sparks.

"Why?" James asked, frowning.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose--he could almost _feel _Ginny's smirk, which wasn't exactly doing wonders for his mood. The two most annoying words in any toddler's vocabulary had to be 'No' and 'Why', and Harry was considering suicide as a viable alternative to being around when Al discovered them. Merlin knew Teddy and Victoire and the rest got enough mileage out of 'em when they were James' age, and they'd been far better-behaved than his oldest son.

"Why? Well. Ah. Killing's wrong because--er. Ask your Aunt Hermione," Harry said wearily, trading betrayal for betrayal.

"_You_--!" Hermione squawked as James turned towards her expectantly, while Ron and Ginny snickered. Hermione scowled at them all and said, rather darkly, "On the subject of killing...", which shut everyone up right quick. There was a reason Harry called her in as a 'special interrogator', sometimes. Merlin knew the only people actually in his department who could hope to intimidate an actual Dark Wizard were himself and Susan.

Speaking of intimidation...he had a plan to put into action. Muahahahaha.

"Harry, stop cackling and eat your veggies."

"But Hermione!"

"_Now_, Harry."

* * *

Kingsley called Harry in the next morning--he'd assumed the Minister had called him in to get a report on his meeting with the Baudelaire girl, but as it turned out, the bald ex-Auror mostly just wanted to hint broadly that violence was not the answer, for practically the first time in Harry's life.

"There's never just one right answer," Harry pointed out in reply, feeling rather wise and zen-like.

"Let me put it another way," Kingsley said, eyes going narrow and hard. "You do anything to Zabini, and I'll tell Ms. Granger-Weasley what you just told me. I _know _how she feels about wishy-washy justifications like that." And Harry was willing to put up with a lot for revenge, but that was just...beyond the pale.

So Harry just scowled when he finally managed to ambush Zabini in the elevator, three days after his first--and so far only--trip to an alternate reality.

"Now, Potter," Zabini said, raising his hands defensively and backing up against one of the walls, but Harry cut him off with a shake of his head, fighting the urge to roll his eyes at the former Slytherin's overblown sense of caution. Then again, Zabini had no way of knowing he'd pretty much been officially forbidden from harming a hair on the other man's head, upon pain of a truly epic Granger Rant.

"Oh, for--relax, will you? It's been established that I'm not actually legally allowed to murder a fellow Ministry employee, and besides, Luna would never forgive me if I castrated you, which was my original plan." Harry was maliciously pleased when Zabini winced, shifting uncomfortably in place and dropping one hand to surreptitiously shield the, er, _goods_. "So. Instead--you get to clarify a few things for me."

"All right," Zabini said slowly, still very much on his guard. "What needs clarification?"

"Aside from everything?" Harry grumbled, regretting it when Zabini's lips twitched into a lazy, superior smile. "Explain to me again how any of these kids affect our universe," he demanded, feeling a headache coming on.

Zabini suddenly looked extremely awkward, shuffling in place and staring somewhere over Harry's shoulder. "Well," he said, conspicuously refusing to meet Harry's gaze. "It's...vibes."

"Vibes," Harry repeated flatly. "_Vibes_."

"The fabric of the universe...well, think of the multiverse as an endless stack of very fragile tissues. If one starts vibrating too much--regardless of the reason for the vibrations--it sends a chain reaction through other dimensions. Why do you think villains and heroes, dark wizards and, well, people like _you_, pop up so regularly? Whenever a universe relatively close to ours undergoes a major change, ripples spreading through the multiverse hit us andset _us _to vibrating_._ The only way we have of minimizing the damage is to prevent these vibrations from ever reaching a critical level, whether they start here or somewhere else entirely."

Harry stared. "So...basically, what you're telling me," he said, in a voice that came out a little too controlled, "is that I'm protecting the universe from bad vibes."

Zabini coughed, dark cheeks gone even darker with embarrassment. "Potter, were you even listening? Not just bad vibes. Particularly strong _good _vibrations have a ripple effect on the multiverse, as well. Your job is simply to maintain order in our dimension by imposing order in other, nearby dimensions," he offered, like that would be enough to distract Harry from the discovery that he was a, a professional _vibe_-hunter.

"I need to go destroy something," Harry said tightly. Zabini edged away carefully, and Harry rolled his eyes. "Not you. For Merlin's sake, Zabini, man up. I just need to hit something for a while before l resign myself to my newest destiny."

"Gryffindor," Zabini accused.

"You only just noticed? But seriously--vibes, Zabini? Couldn't you Unthinkables come up with anything better?"

"Unspeakables, Potter."

"Whatever."

Zabini glowered. "Vibes are the official explanation."

"Next time, just...make something up, all right?" Harry said, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. "Tell me it's magic. I don't care. Just...no vibes. Please."

"No vibes, got it," Zabini agreed coolly. "Oh, I also have your assignment for this afternoon. It should be a little more exciting than your last mission. We've identified two people in the same universe capable of, ah--"

"Vibe-bombing us?" Harry suggested dourly.

"Quite. But, as I was trying to say, we've had a bit of trouble figuring out your second contact--there are three possibilities, and as something's getting in the way of our scrying, we can't narrow it down further."

"Huh," Harry said, frowning. "That's a little inconvenient."

"Yes, well, this one's very important. The first person's on the influential side, and we're almost positive she'll play a large role in the future of her world--as in, without her, her world might not even have a future. But the boy, the one we can't quite place? Potter, he's an Antichrist."

Harry stared, even as the elevator finally dinged their arrival on his floor. "You want _me _to counsel the Antichrist," he said, a little numbly. The doors slid smoothly open, and he deliberately knocked into Zabini on his way out.

"_I _certainly don't," Zabini said, watching him distrustfully. The sad thing was, Harry really couldn't blame him. "And I said _an_ Antichrist, Potter. You didn't think there was only one in the entire multiverse, did you?"

"That's really not the sort of thing a person should have to worry about," Harry retorted, as the elevator doors began to close.

"Yes, well, neither is your face," Zabini said triumphantly, barely managing to get the last word out before the lift, well, lifted.

* * *

"I knew you were coming," were Anathema Device's first words to Harry when he wandered up the drive to her front door. She'd opened it before he could knock, staring at him with wide, dark eyes that didn't blink quite often enough for his comfort or peace of mind. At least she was considerably older than his first assignment--seventeen or eighteen, he guessed, and on the tall side, too. Technically a teenager, just as Sunny was technically a kid, but clearly Zabini still felt like pushing the envelope.

"Did you," Harry said, figuring that it was pretty possible. If a young woman could be named Anathema Device, of all things, then psychic powers were hardly out of the question. Hell, even Trelawney occasionally got a prediction right.

"Oh yes," Anathema agreed solemnly. "You see, you were in The Book. From what I can tell, you're either supposed to be an interdimensional encyclopedia salesman or my new mentor. Either way, I'm sorry, but I'm not terribly interested. And I must warn you, if you get fresh, I have a bread knife."

Harry stared. Encylopedia salesman?! _Bread knife_?

"Uh," he said intelligently. "Well. First off, about the, er, getting fresh thing--I'm married."

"And?" Anathema asked suspiciously. "That's never stopped anyone."

"Married to a very scary, very strong lady who can make magic booger-bats fly out of my nose and attack me," Harry elaborated. "A scary lady with five older brothers." Anathema gave this due consideration, then relaxed a little and nodded. "As for the mentor thing, well, I'm actually just here for the day. Or, ah, the afternoon."

"I know," Anathema said, knowingly. Harry was starting to think that she _had _to be at least a little psychic, in addition to having some mysterious The Book (Harry could practically _hear_ the capitalized letters).

"I'm only here to talk to you about using your powers for, well, good. Or at least not for the sort of enormous, psychotic evil that will destroy your world and damage mine. But you can only be moderately good, because if you're really good, that could cause problems as well." Anathema, he suspected, was the sort of person one was better off being straight-forward with. If only because he was a little creeped out by the pale teenager, and didn't want her accusing him of lying or trying to sell her something.

He wasn't entirely sure this was a step up from Sunny Baudelaire. He understood sharp teeth and unintelligible gurgling. They made sense. Telling a girl like Anathema Device that she had to be moderately good, no more and no less? That made considerably less sense.

"From what I've read in The Book," Anathema told him, sounding like Hermione launching into one of her many lectures about--well, he didn't know quite what Hermione lectured him and Ron about, because he never really listened. "I won't be particularly bad or particularly good. Mostly, I'll just be around. Though I suspect I will try to avert the apocalypse in the not-too-distant future."

"And you read all of this in...The book?" Harry asked, feeling entirely out of his depth.

Anathema skewered him with a narrow-eyed stare. "You know," she told him, disgruntled, "for a dimension-hopping mentor, you really don't seem to be very well-informed."

"No, that would be _your _area of expertise," Harry said a bit sharply.

Anathema considered him for a long moment, then smiled. "True. Which is why I know you really shouldn't be wasting your time with me. There's someone else you're supposed to visit while you're in this dimension, correct?"

Harry coughed. "My, uh, project coordinator said so. But he was a little unclear on the details."

"You're looking for a boy," Anathema told him, as if that should narrow his search down.

"That much, I knew," Harry muttered. "Actually, I've got three names. The right boy is one of them--I suppose I'll just have to visit them all and, uh, give them the don't-destroy-the-world talk." Not an easy talk, to be sure, but considerably better than a few other Talks he could name.

Anathema snorted. "I have to say, your 'project coordinator' doesn't sound very coordinated."

Harry grinned, suddenly feeling a great wave of fondness for the girl, creepy eyes and mysterious book aside. "I think you'll be all right," he told her. "Anyone who insults Zabini is pretty much destined to do good. But only a mediocre sort of good."

"You aren't the most responsible moral guide ever, are you," Anathema stated, lips quirking.

"I lie a lot," Harry allowed. "And I'm a bit nosy."

"Well, I suppose you're all right, then," Anathema pronounced. Harry beamed.

* * *

Warlock was one of the most confused and confusing kids Harry had ever met, and that included himself. He honestly struck Harry as a little, well, morally bipolar. Plus, his nanny gave Harry the creeps.

"Don't kill people," Harry advised the kid, at a loss.

"Mister Francis always says that I must cherish every life as I cherish my very own," Warlock agreed, looking a little puzzled. "Because we are all brothers under the Lord."

"Unless..." Nanny Ashtoreth prompted from the corner of the room, sending the occasional dark look Harry's way.

"They annoy me, and then I crush them underfoot," Warlock finished with a sigh, clearly bored by this tangent.

"Like?" Ashoreth asked leadingly, eyebrows raised.

"Like the filthy worms they are," the boy said by rote.

"Very good," the nanny praised smugly. Harry stared.

He suspected this was one kid he'd be having Zabini keep a very close eye on, Antichrist or not.

* * *

The second boy reminded Harry sharply of a younger Dudley at first, but he soon discovered that Greasy Johnson had, in addition to a nickname even worse than 'Dudders', a bashful streak a mile wide. Plus, the boy had a prize-winning tropical fish collection. If he were potentially evil, they'd probably have laser-beam eyes or something, or at least be more interesting than, well, normal tropical fish.

"I like your fish," he lied. Coming from a world where half-giants kept dragons as pets, fish just weren't particularly engaging. But Johnson didn't catch the lie, and beamed proudly at Harry. "Also, you shouldn't hurt people who can't fight back. And don't destroy the world."

The boy eyed him warily. "I wasn't planning on it," Johnson said slowly. "Destroying the world, I mean. I just want to raise fish."

"Good lad," Harry approved, relieved. Somehow, he was beginning to suspect that this kid wasn't his target. Probably those finely-honed Auror instincts kicking in.

* * *

The quarry looked like the sort of place Harry would've loved to have found when he was a child--it was chaotic and homey and a little bit dangerous, everything the Dursleys abhorred, everything that'd been lacking from Privet Drive and his pre-Hogwarts life. Harry automatically found himself smiling, and not just at the four little kids in front of him.

Pepper could have been a Weasley, easy--she was all red hair and freckles and blustering temper. Wensleydale was a born Ravenclaw, and Brian was basically a slightly less environmentally-conscious Ron. And Adam, well, Adam was a picture of mischief and unflagging self-confidence. He was exactly the kind of kid Harry was predisposed to like--the kind of kid he wished he could've been, the kind of kid he was raising his own children to be like.

"So," Harry said, offering The Them a slight smile. "I'm really here to talk to Adam, but I suppose it can't hurt to include you all."

"Whatcha got to say?" Pepper demanded, arms folded over her chest, freckled nose scrunched up in a belligerent sort of curiosity.

"Not much, honestly. Just wanted to tell you all to say no to world domination," Harry advised sagely. "And also, try to avoid killing people."

"How 'bout 'mericans?" Brian asked around a mashed-up mouthful of potato chips. Harry, long accustomed to Weasley table manners, didn't so much as flinch--which, he could tell, gained him a number of points with the kids.

"Americans are people too," Harry told them. "Hard to believe, but true."

"Huh," Pepper said, a little disbelieving. "They don't _sound _like people. Not _real _people, anyway."

"Our basic biology's the same," Wensleydale argued, sounding entirely too old for his age--the bespectacled boy couldn't be much more than six or seven, and no one younger than twelve should ever utter the phrase 'basic biology', in Harry's entirely valid opinion.

"'Course we won't kill anyone," Adam interrupted scornfully. "Why would be kill anyone? But I already decided I'm gonna be emperor of the universe. A pirate emperor."

Harry bit back a grin. "Not a ninja?" he asked.

"I'm gonna be a ninja," Pepper said immediately. "A ninja cowboy."

Harry wisely didn't mention that she didn't have, well, the basic biology to be a cowboy. He suspected she wouldn't take kindly to the correction. Instead, he searched desperately for some other words of wisdom to impart, something profound, something that would stick with them all for years to come, see them through the difficult times no doubt ahead of them.

"Friends," he told them solemnly, "are good."

"Uh, yeah," Brian said, staring.

"Want to play a game?" Adam asked, losing interest with Harry's kernels of wisdom. "How about robots versus mutants?"

Harry considered, but really, his duty was clear. "I'm a robot," he said immediately.

Yeah, this definitely wasn't the worst mission ever. And obviously, Warlock was the one he'd been sent to watch. No way would Adam or young Greasy Johnson ever be problems.

* * *

"I met your son's future wife today," Harry announced, striding into the Minister's antechamber with a satisfied smile spread across his face. "O wise leader of the future," he added hastily, in case she was still holding a grudge about the other day.

Ulyssia was stealthy with her grudges. Back when he'd first become an Auror, Ulyssia had brought Ron a plate of cookies in congratulations. Ron had unwisely cracked a joke about baking and women's work, and then spent weeks terrified out of his mind that she'd ambush him and hex his penis off or something. But no--two years went by before Harry's best friend woke up one morning to find himself hanging upside-down over Ulyssia's stove, his hair about one inch from open flame and a rather sharp-edged spatula millimeters from his face.

"Now this," Ulyssia had infamously told Ron, "is women's work."

Ulyssia looked up from a pile of parchments, her eyebrows raised. "That Daphne girl?" she asked, face twisted a little in distaste.

"She won't last," Harry scoffed. "She diets."

Ulyssia shuddered. "I thought I raised my son to have better taste than that," she said mournfully.

"But you'd like the girl I met today," Harry said, grinning. "Number one, her name's Anathema Device."

"Good solid wizarding-type name," Ulyssia approved. "Sounds rather Slytherin."

"Number two, she knows pretty much everything that's going to happen ahead of time. Like, well, like you." Ulyssia preened a little, and Harry figured he'd earned himself a couple of brownie points. With any luck, real brownies would ensue. "And number three, she carries a bread knife and she threatened me with it."

"Has anyone ever told you," Ulyssia said, staring, "that you somehow meet the most interesting people?"

"Well, no," Harry said. "But I already knew that. I mean, I know _you_." He smiled winningly. "So, er. You won't stovetop me, right?" he added, his words coming out in a jumbled, nervous rush. It was better not to live in suspense, and he knew for a fact that she liked him better than Ron, so he had reason to hope.

"Certainly not," Ulyssia said, sounding offended. "I won't promise not to breadknife you, though."

"...I thought you liked me!"

"I'll give you a cookie when I'm done."

Harry wasn't Head Auror for nothing. He nodded thoughtfully and said, "For one of your cookies? It's a fair trade, I suppose."

As planned, Ulyssia relaxed, a delighted smile spreading across her aging yet still handsome face. "Well, I suppose I can spare the knife."

Ulyssia gave a martyred sigh, and once again, Harry had to wonder how much of her specific brand of sadism was a show, and how much was, well, really, really scary. Perhaps, he decided, he'd give it some time before teasing her again.

* * *

Vote times! Top choices are currently Dr. Horrible, Buffy, Spider-Man, and Naruto.


	4. Chapter 4

DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Any of it.

Uh. Consider this an interlude chapter while I get something real written? Sorry about the wait, yo.

* * *

"CARE BEAR STARE!"

As Harry tumbled down, down, down from the flying car, he vowed to never underestimate magical talking bear-creatures ever, ever again.

This time, Zabini really was dead. Ginny could find someone else extramarital to ogle.

-------

"Bears, Zabini? With magical fuzzy bellies? _Really_?"

"Evil takes many forms," Zabini said piously, though it came out a little muffled, as he was guarding his head with both his hands--lest, no doubt, his face take many forms. Around Harry's _fist_.

"I will hurt you," Harry said, a statement of fact rather than a threat. "I really, truly will."

Zabini swallowed heavily. "Look. Your next assignment is a good one, Potter, I swear. No bears. No sudden drops from flying cars. No magical fluffy bellies. Although honestly, Potter, only you could manage to alienate their entire society to the point where they'd attempt to murder you by flying car. I mean, they called themselves the _Care Bears_, for Merlin's sake."

"I hate you so much," Harry grumbled, because it was kind of hard to argue with that. "So very much."

-------

It took Harry about five minutes to decide that this, in a welcome change from the previous sentient midget bear disaster, was the best assignment ever. He was going to _kiss_ Zabini when he got back. And Ginny wouldn't even care, because he was bringing her souvenirs, so she'd probably want to kiss Zabini, too. Of course, Luna might mind--but then again, this was Luna, so who could really tell? She didn't seem to care that Zabini and Daphne still occasionally made eyes at each other across crowded rooms, or that Ulyssia had taken to encouraging her son to 'go meet that nice Anathema girl in that alternate dimension with the Antichrist'.

"I don't even care if you go evil," he told the boy sitting across the table. "Just never, ever stop living here. In fact, please indulge in the occasional bout of moral ambiguity. I'll tell everyone I need to do regular risk assessments or something official-sounding like that and visit, oh, once a month. Week. Once a week."

Charlie beamed at him, eyes bright with amusement. "Just wait until you see the glass elevator," the boy enthused, bouncing a little in his seat. Harry couldn't help but like the boy, and not just because he lived in the greatest candy factory to ever exist. Charlie reminded him a little of Neville, and a lot of the boy he himself had been before Hogwarts.

"Can I move here?" Harry asked a little plaintively, not even really joking. He took a large bite of chocolate, which melted on his tongue most satisfyingly. "I'll live with the Oompa-Loompas. I'll do your bidding. I'll...stop accusing your Mister Wonka of looking like a jumped up version of Michael Jackson. God rest his soul. Or would it be Merlin rest his soul? They really need to have a class on this sort of thing at Hogwarts."

"Sorry," Charlie apologized, lips twitching. "But I think Mister Wonka doesn't like you all that much. You really shouldn't have mentioned that your sister-in-law has dentists for parents."

His fatal mistake, Harry thought gloomily. Oh, well--he supposed he was lucky enough as it was. How many people got to eat chocolate from another universe, anyway? He bet _Voldemort_ never got to eat chocolate from another universe.

It was a petty thought, and Harry indulged it shamelessly.

"I lied about not caring if you go evil," Harry admitted, now that he knew transdimensional emigration was unfortunately out of the question. Stupid Hermione and her stupid teeth-worshiping parents. "Evil people tend to poison their candy."

Charlie looked aghast. "That _is_ evil," he agreed. "Candy's--"

"Sacrosanct?" Harry offered. Like he could hold any other opinion, when he was practically a Weasley.

"Something like that," Charlie said, smiling again. No way was this boy headed for a life of crime and dark deeds, Harry decided, unless the dark in question referred to the type chocolate he made. Delicious, delicious dark chocolate.

Maybe he'd just go and tell Ulyssia about Charlie and the candy factory. Give her a sample of the chocolate or something. She'd hunt Kingsley down and force him into a trade agreement, or at least into letting Harry visit every so often and bring back a few tons of candy bars.

"Then I guess you're in for a future of incredible candy and heroism," Harry decided, pleased. "Possibly, you won't even have to deal with any adolescent angst that could possibly sway you towards the side of all things evil and poisoned. Because, well, candy factory."

"That's good to know," Charlie said earnestly. "So what kind of hero do you think I'll be?"

"The kind who makes the best chocolate bars known to man," Harry said immediately and passionately. "A hero to, well, everyone everywhere, but especially Weasleys and teenage girls. If you ever find a way to make chocolate that doesn't set off allergies or make people gain weight, you might be sainted. Or knighted, if you aren't the religious sort. Or possibly just smothered in adoration and money and grateful young women--or men, if you're into that."

Harry realized he was rambling, but he couldn't much bring himself to care. Besides, it was obvious Charlie had blocked out everything he said after 'gain weight', so whatever.

Charlie's eyes gleamed. "Chocolate for people allergic to chocolate? Mister Wonka will _love_ that idea. _Everyone_ should be able to eat chocolate."

"Think now he'll let me move in?" Harry asked, fingers crossed, hoping against hope. Whatever _that_ meant--maybe he'd have Hermione explain it to him. Or Luna, because her explanations were always infinitely more amusing.

"You asked him if he meant to come across as a color-blind sexual predator," Charlie reminded him delicately. "I don't think he'll get over that very soon. He's not really the forgiving sort. I'm not even sure he'll let you visit again."

Harry winced, remembering those halcyon days of his youth when he'd actually known how to be tactful, or at least conveniently silent. Clearly, it was time to bring out the big guns.

"There's someone I'll bring with me, next time. I think your Mister Wonka will like him--my brother-in-law, I mean. George Weasley."

"Does he make candy?" Charlie asked, head cocked to the side, bright eyes alight with curiously.

Harry just grinned. Transdimensional emigration might just be back on the table.

-------

"Do you want to take that gas mask off?" Harry asked his latest assignment, deciding this had to rank just a little above the animated stuffed bear incident, and far, far below the candy factory mission. Charlie had been considerably more fun and less, well, unnervingly creepy. Okay, he'd been a little unnervingly creepy, because no one should be that kind and cheerful and pragmatic, even if they _did_ live in a candy factory, but still. There was just no comparison.

A siren wailed in the background, the night sky going ever darker with airplane fuel exhaust. Definitely no comparison.

"Are you my mummy?" Harry's newest assigment asked, head tilted a little to the side. He took a small step towards Harry--who backed away, sneaking his wand into his hand. This was one mission that was not, he suspected, going to end in a month's supply of free chocolate and a transdimensional Weasley-Potter-Wonka partnership.

"Not even a little," Harry said honestly. Which was a good thing, because being a full-time father to his two boys (plus, he was beginning to suspect Ginny was pregnant again and just refusing to admit it in case he tried to make her take it easy at Quidditch) and a part-time father to Teddy and his numerous nieces, nephews, godchildren, employees' children, and random lost children on the street--well, he was booked pretty solid, in the paternal sense.

He considered Ginny's habit of telling the kids to 'walk it off' when they were crying and bleeding from scraped knees and elbows, and decided he was booked solid in the maternal sense too, really.

"Are you my mummy?" the boy repeated, taking a step forward and sounding a little frustrated, now. Harry had faced Inferi, and Voldemort, and Dobby on a sugar high, and he could honestly say he'd never been quite as unsettled as he was right now.

That, Harry decided, edging backwards, was very much that. He just did not get paid enough for this nonsense.

"No. No, I am not your mummy. Regardless of what Zabini might imply, I am not anyone's mummy. Evil is bad, please don't kill people or destroy the world, and goodbye," he said hastily, and activated his portkey with whisper just as the masked boy began to reach towards him.

Well. That was one world he had no desire to ever, ever see again. Though it was still way better than those damned Care Bears.


End file.
